Renewal
by The Half Mad Muggle
Summary: Joining the Death Eaters is not an easy task. But when Lord Voldemort doubts your loyalty, and decides to test it to the extreme, it is much harder. How much is Severus willing to risk in order to spy on the Dark Lord? NOW COMPLETE.
1. Prologue

Renewal

I love Voldemort. I really wanted to write him; so for this, I apologise. I love the way he can be so silkily insane. Also, one gets sick of writing Dumbledore all the time!

So. Joining the Death Eaters ranks is not easy the first time. But proving your loyalty for the second time? That cannot be simple. Especially when things have changed, and you are actually a spy for Albus Dumbledore.

Lord Voldemort's tests are not simple. He abuses the body, torments the mind and slices the soul, to see into the true heart. How far is Severus Snape willing to go to prove his loyalty? How much will he lose?

How far will the Dark Lord push him?

_Kati says she wants to strangle Voldemort. By the end of this fic she will want to murder him, mwah ha ha ha ha._

* * *

"Severus." A white finger beckoned him from the outer circle to stand in the centre. He moved fluidly, back straight, steps elegant.

"How many years have you been in my service?"

Severus bowed, "Eighteen, my Lord."

"Indeed. A long time, is it not?"

He did not know how to respond to that.

"And yet...you have not once strayed from my path? You have not once left my shadow?"

"No, my Lord." He lied.

"Eighteen years. This would mean that your vows need to be renewed, Severus." The voice had dropped to a murmur, but everyone could hear his words.

"...My Lord?" No one else had had their vows renewed. "Might I ask why?"

Lord Voldemort rose from his throne, stepping towards the younger wizard. "I wish to see that you are still loyal. Do you remember your initiation, Severus?"

A shiver ran down his spine. The memories were still fresh. The scars were still visible. "Yes, my Lord."

"There is no other way to prove your loyalty to me." He paused for dramatic effect, "If you survive, you will have earned both my respect and my trust, Severus."

He needed both those things.

"I will call for you again. Be prepared. You may leave."

He turned his back and left the circle.

* * *

"Severus." An old man came rushing toward him. He stepped forward, moving fluidly. "Headmaster."

"How was the meeting?"

"Interesting."

"Enlighten me." The Headmaster was concerned for his well being.

"I am unharmed. However, the Dark Lord thinks it is prudent to test my loyalty." He folded his arms as they walk across the dark Hogwarts grounds. He was not yet ready to go inside.

"You sound wary, dear boy."

He turned to look at his Headmaster, "He is hinting that they will be similar to the initiation tests I took as a boy. You do not know about them."

Dumbledore shook his head slowly, "Are they dangerous?"

"Dangerous. Painful. Mortal." The younger wizard contemplated for a moment. "He will push the body and the mind and the soul as far as they will go, to see how much you are willing to sacrifice for him."

"And how much are you willing to sacrifice for him?" Dumbledore pressed anxiously.

Severus looked up at the stars. "For him? Nothing." He paused for dramatic effect. "But for you? Everything I have."

* * *

_A nice short prologue here. The next chapter we'll start with the nitty gritty. Please let me know what you think, because I need to know whether it is worth carrying on with. But yes, it will be angsty and dark things...I can hint at the following things:_

_Boggarts, memories and the dreaded Dementors...amongst other things...._


	2. Baptism of Fire Part 1

Renewal

_Chapter 1: Baptism of Fire_

_Each "test" will be split into two chapters. Voldemort does like to add to the suspense. Then I promise we can have a little comfort. But not much._

_Thank you so much for waiting for this fic; I want it to be perfect! And don't worry. It will be original. I come up with the most original ways to torture people..._

_That sounds a little worrying, doesn't it?_

_Enjoy!_

* * *

Severus tucked his wand into the inner pocket of his robe, pulling his sleeve back down over his twisting and burning Dark Mark.

He wasn't...nervous, as such. Anxious and uneasy were probably better adjectives.

"_You know how important this is, Severus. We need a spy. Don't do anything foolish."_

Albus was trying to be caring, as always. But Severus knew that he sensed failure on the horizon, and was looking at other options. He knew he was not being thrown aside, he knew that Albus had to help the Light to win.

But a little faith always did go a long way.

But here he was, about to step into—he knew this place. The mausoleum, where he had been initiated. Returning here brought back memories of a different man; a man who had been wild and dangerous and uncontrolled. Eager to destroy and serve.

He had changed since then.

He slipped through the entrance into the large tomb, pulling his hood down from his head. The Dark Lord would know he was here.

There was a large central chamber to the tomb; Severus had never been keen on this location, considering the number of hidden corners and shadows. He liked to see everything. Here, he could not. He would not know what was lurking behind the columns, until the Dark Lord decided to show him.

"Severus." The voice was disembodied, for the moment. Severus bowed anyway, trying not to probe into every corner. "My Lord."

"I wonder how ready you are, Severus. Three tests. Such a small number. Yet...are you afraid?"

"Why should I be afraid, my Lord? My loyalty to you is complete; I have nothing to fear."

A laugh, soft and mirthless. "Such an arrogant response, Severus." Footsteps to his left. The Dark Lord appeared, cloaked in black material that had the appearance of opaque cobwebs. He seemed to drift and glide; he did not move like a human.

Then again, as Severus reminded himself on a daily basis, the Dark Lord was not human.

"You amuse me, Severus. However. Answer me this. Why do I choose to test your loyalty?"

Severus knew the answer to this. "Because you doubt me, my Lord. Although why, I do not know."

Voldemort drew his wand and pointed it at Severus, "Do not question me, Severus. You would do well not to anger me." He kept his wand trained on Severus as he walked around the younger wizard, in a complete circle. "Take out your wand."

Severus found his weapon, closing his fist around the wood, digging his nails into his palm. He held it by his side.

Voldemort extended a hand for his wand, "Give it to me. You will not need it." Severus hesitated for one moment. But he decided that if the Dark Lord was going to kill him, then the deed would have been carried out by now. He handed his wand to Voldemort, letting his arm fall back to his side.

Voldemort stowed the weapon in his robes. "It is nice to know that you can still follow orders, Severus. Now. Turn around."

Severus turned on the spot. He hated, had always hated, having his back to the Dark Lord. He felt the anxiety grab at his chest once again. He needed to stay calm. He forced himself to keep staring at an invisible object in front of him.

He heard the Dark Lord take a step closer, so he was right behind Severus' shoulder.

He was trying to work out what colour the invisible object was.

His breathing quickened, despite himself.

Before he could fully react, a piece of black material had been pulled across his eyes. Instantly his sight was obscured—and he felt the fear this time.

Voldemort pulled the blindfold tight and tied it in a knot behind his head. His voice was close to Severus' right ear. "Without sight, Severus? Let us see you keep your composure now."

The voice was suddenly far away, "I am going to ask you a few questions."

Now it was to his left, "Your answers will determine whether or not I hurt you."

He could feel Voldemort's breath on his face. "Are you afraid now, Severus?"

Severus Snape realised that, quite truthfully, he was. "Yes, my Lord." He decided to answer that question, despite the dryness of his throat.

Voldemort, still in front of him, laughed. "Good. Now. First question..."

* * *

_Will you be back to read the continuation? I know I will! Much love, thank you for waiting, a review might make Severus' suffering shorter._

_Then again. It might now. *laughs cruelly*_


	3. Baptism of Fire Part 2

Renewal

_Baptism of Fire; Part Two_

_Kati pestered me for this. Here it is. I...am not sure about it. But, I like the idea. It's just hard to write. But never mind! SS19 x x x _

* * *

He didn't like being blind.

He didn't like being so disorientated.

He didn't like not knowing what the Dark Lord was going to do to him.

"Severus..." The voice called him, and he turned his head slightly, listening. "Tell me this. What is your opinion of Albus Dumbledore?"

A loaded question; Severus had to contemplate his response. If he was to be insulting, then the Dark Lord would know him to be a liar. If he were too sycophantic, the Dark Lord would know him to be a traitor. "Albus Dumbledore is a great wizard." He replied, "Unfortunately, he does not know where the true power lies."

"And where is that power, Severus?"

"With you, my Lord." Severus answered smoothly.

"A good answer." Voldemort's footsteps echoed behind him, "However. It sounds rehearsed. Your passion has gone, Severus. I sense it. Is that Dumbledore's influence, Severus? Has he corrupted you?"

"No, my Lord." Severus answered softly.

"You are loyal to me, then?" The voice was on his other side now.

"Of course."

"Indeed." The Dark Lord did not sound convinced. "You never seem unsettled, Severus, not by anything. I put you under so much pressure—and yet, you are never flustered."

Severus knew otherwise. He may appear calm and composed on the outside, but when he was walking such a thin line, where death could be waiting just around the corner...his insides were tumultuous and he was often scared.

"I want to see what happens if I increase that pressure." The Dark Lord murmured, only just loud enough for Severus to hear.

There was a long silence.

Something prickled down Severus' back. He tried not to react, focusing on keeping his body still.

His forehead felt hot.

In fact, suddenly, his whole body was warm. Uncomfortably so. He clenched one fist, just slightly. Sweat was beading on his upper lip.

"I would stay very still, if I were you, Severus. It is starting to get a little warm in here, is it not?"

Severus wanted to know why it was so hot. He breathed in, but instead of oxygen, smoke choked his lungs. He coughed.

Even though he was blindfolded, his eyes were stinging. He coughed again, more violently this time, feeling strange. Dizzy. Slightly less alert.

"Are you loyal to me, Severus, and only me?"

He realised that he could hear flames flickering. He forced himself to wake up. "Yes, my Lord." He murmured, voice harsh from the smoke invading his mouth. He coughed again.

"Severus." The Dark Lord's voice seemed to slice through already noise, straight to his eardrum. "Put your right arm out in front of you."

Severus pre-empted what was going to happen. He hesitated.

"Severus." The tone was dangerous, and he knew that refusing would not help him. He bit his lip and held his hand out.

Suddenly, everything was quiet. The silence made him feel faint, but he realised there was another reason for this. Being blind and temporarily deaf meant that only three other sense worked.

The most prominent of these was touch—and more importantly, pain.

He held his hand steady, even as the heat became too much to bear. Slowly it became throbbing, running all the way up his arm to his elbow.

He could smell scorched skin.

That was when it started to hurt. He gasped, agony stinging every follicle of his skin. His eyes started to tear; he sank his teeth deeper into his lip, trying to maintain his icy facade.

"I ask you again, Severus." The voice made him jump, and he almost cried out. The burns on his hands were becoming excruciating—he wanted to take his hand out of the fire, but he didn't dare. "Are you loyal to me?"

He didn't know where this was going. Saying yes was earning him only more pain—why did he have to keep lying? He didn't want to be burned alive, it was one of the worst ways to die. He shook himself mentally. What was he thinking? "I am loyal to you, my Lord." His voice was calm, composed, and he did not give away the fear.

There was silence for a moment.

Then the heat eased.

He could breathe again.

The blindfold disappeared. He looked down at his hand. Blisters had arisen on the pale skin, leaving his fingers red, raw and angry. He turned to look at the Dark Lord.

"You have passed this test, Severus." Voldemort announced. "Be gone from my sight."

Severus nodded once, and turned away, pulling his robes tighter around himself.

* * *

He went straight to the Headmaster's office, hiding his burnt hand under his robes. It was still sore.

Very sore, in fact.

He had to admit, he was scared. He hated being frightened—but the Dark Lord, when he was angry and unpredictable, was something to be afraid of. He wanted—needed—some comfort. The Headmaster would be the one to provide it.

He raised his left hand to knock on the door. It was late—past midnight. He had been with the Dark Lord for over an hour.

"Yes?" The voice from inside sounded sleepy. Severus allowed himself a small smile before pushing the door open.

The Headmaster was sat at his desk, reading a book. The candles were lit, and Fawkes was stood proudly on his perch by the window. Albus looked up, "Severus. How was it?"

Severus made his way forward, feeling tired himself. "Trying." He replied, making sure to keep his hand out of sight. Albus stood, coming to sit on the sofa. "Tell me."

"He is testing my loyalty." Severus answered. "He is not renewing any vows—he doubts me. I have to be careful, Headmaster."

"What did he do to you tonight?" Albus was perceptive—he always had been. "Where has he hurt you?"

Severus forced himself to keep looking into Albus' blue eyes, "He hasn't..."

His voice sounded weak, even to his own ears. Albus raised his eyebrows, and Severus crumbled. "My hand."

"Let me see." Albus replied softly.

Severus pulled his hand out from under his robe. He turned it over to show the palm to Albus. Albus frowned, "Severus." He murmured, and Severus could not determine what emotion lay on those syllables.

Carefully, very carefully, Albus placed one hand under Severus' own, raising it slightly to the light. "Why did he do this?"

"He wanted to test me under pressure. He also blindfolded me, to make me vulnerable. He wanted me to be afraid."

Albus' blue eyes looked at him, "And were you?"

Severus nodded, feeling weak. Albus reached out with his other hand and brushed a finger against Severus' cheek, "Well done for being so brave. Fawkes, come here."

The phoenix swept toward the two seated wizards. The bird looked at Severus dolefully for a moment; black eyes met black eyes. Severus found himself wondering what the future would hold; Fawkes seemed sad. Perhaps he knew something that Severus did not?

Tears appeared in Fawkes' eyes, and Albus held out Severus' hand so they landed on the burns. He felt the soothing instantly—and slowly the burns started to disappear. "If the Voldemort asks, you put a salve on them." Albus said, breaking the silence.

"Thank you." Severus answered, gratitude staining the words. Albus smiled at him, "No matter. What do you think he will do next?"

Severus shook his head, "I don't know." He glanced at Albus, "I really don't know."

Albus moved slightly and put both arms around Severus, giving him a hug, "Whatever it is, you need to stay true to yourself."

"I won't betray us, Headmaster." Severus responded quietly. "I won't tell him."

But he couldn't fight the feeling of dread in his heart, and instead of speaking again, he simply rested his head against the Headmaster's shoulder, wondering when the Dark Lord would next call for him...

_

* * *

_

You know, I wonder when he will next call for him too. But I think old Volders will have come up with something equally as cruel for the next test. I wonder if Severus will pass...and what might happen if he fails?

_SS19 xx_


	4. Breathing Space Part 1

**Renewal**

_OK. Miss Skaterkep managed to guess the theme of the story (and gave me an idea too). Annoyingly, she gave away the next chapter. That is what happens when you are so in sync she can read your thoughts._

_HOWEVER! I don't think any of you are expecting this. I certainly am not. Was not. I don't do the writing, the Voldemort inside me does._

_Much love to all readers. Remember to give Severus a hug at the end. If he survives._

_*laughs cruelly*_

* * *

_**Chapter Two: Breathing Space**_

The Mark on his arm burnt. He looked up from the plate of unappetising steak before him. Suddenly, an almost raw piece of meat made his stomach churn. He frowned, just slightly, before rising in his chair. He turned without a glance back, and disappeared from the Great Hall.

He felt Albus' eyes follow him until he had closed the door.

He changed into his Death Eater robes, feeling uncomfortable. They felt tighter than normal. Despite his hatred of anything Death Eater related, he had always liked the robes. They hid him away, so no skin was exposed. When he wore his mask, he was just another shadow. He was no longer Severus Snape. He could disappear from view.

He walked to the edge of the Forbidden Forest, resting his right hand on his Mark. What could be in store this time? Would he survive the night?

He glanced back at the castle. His home.

Why did he have such a bad feeling about this?

* * *

They weren't in the mausoleum, this time. When he Apparated, he found himself standing by a lake, surrounded by tall trees around him. The sky was inky black. There was a slight chill to the air.

"Severus." Lord Voldemort turned from where he had been contemplating the water. "You left this behind during your last visit."

He was holding Severus' wand. The younger wizard had missed it, terribly. He held out his hand for it—the Dark Lord laughed. "I don't think you will need it tonight." His tone changed from conversational to authoritative, "Show me your hand."

Severus hesitated.

The Dark Lord folded his arms over his chest. Red eyes flicked over Severus, and Severus saw the anger. "Show me...your hand."

He held out his right hand for the Dark Lord to examine. Voldemort grabbed the fingers and held them tight, bending his palm backward. Severus felt pain lance up his arm as Voldemort hissed in exclamation, "Where are the blisters?"

Severus swallowed, "I prepared a salve for them. I could not carry out my duties..."

"Liar!" Voldemort interrupted, pressing Severus' wand to his forehead, "Do not lie to me, Severus Snape. These have been healed by something stronger than any common potion maker's antidote." The wand dug into his skin, "Or is it someone stronger, Severus? Did Albus Dumbledore do this?"

Severus forced his gaze to meet Voldemort's, "I am no _common _potion maker, my Lord. I healed the blisters myself."

Voldemort snarled at him, "I do not believe you."

"Believe what you will, my Lord. I would not let him touch me."

Voldemort watched him for a moment longer, before releasing his grip on Severus' hand. He pulled the wand away, and Severus stepped back, adjusting his robes slightly. "Tell me why I do not trust you, Severus. Tell me why I am suspicious when you are in my company."

How he hated himself for the next words. Pandering, pathetic words, seeking only approval. "You are right to not trust me, my Lord. You are right to test all of us. You can only have the strongest and most loyal followers in your shadow—for there are those who would seek your downfall." One day he would see the Dark Lord lie dead upon the ground. He would have helped with that, at least.

Voldemort smiled, and Severus knew he had won that battle. "You are wise with your words, as always, Severus."

He could allow himself to relax, just slightly.

"However. Are you so wise that you are able to deceive me? Are you so intelligent that you can be the servant to two masters? I believe you are capable of this." He paused. "Of course, when you have completed these tests and proved your loyalty to me, I shall not doubt you again. Your path to the Darkness shall be complete."

Once upon a time, Severus would have given everything to hear those words. He would have begged for them. How he hated his past self.

"So. We shall begin where we finished two nights ago." Voldemort gestured toward the tree. Two shadows appeared—from their size and strength, they could only be Crabbe and Goyle—two of Voldemort's favourite henchmen, valued for their power instead of intelligence—which was lacking. They would do what he said, always, for they did not have the intellect to challenge his orders. They were servants—with no free minds.

Severus was glad he had never lost control of his mind.

"You will kneel, Severus."

Severus felt the evening dew touch his robes as he knelt in the soft grass, keeping his eyes focused on the Dark Lord. He saw, out of the corner of his gaze, Crabbe and Goyle lumber toward him. In no time, there was one on each side of him, holding his arms tight between them. He felt the fear.

"Severus. What do you think the worst way to _die _would be?"

Severus did not react, "I do not know, my Lord, for I have very little experience in the matter."

Voldemort laughed—not a mirthful laugh; it was more a cruel snicker. "Of course not. However, I wish to know your opinion. What do you think would hurt the most?"

Severus glanced toward the lake, beginning to wonder what was happening here. "My Lord..."

Voldemort smirked at him, "Perhaps you realise what is going to happen? Severus, are you loyal to me?"

"Yes!" The absolute anxiety touched his chest, and his voice was higher-pitched, "I am."

"But as you said, Severus, I need to be sure." Voldemort nodded at Crabbe ad Goyle. They dragged him toward the lake—and Severus knew instantly that he had to resist. He tried to pull away from his fellow Death eaters—but between them, they had too much strength. His struggles were broken like water on rock.

"No need to struggle, Severus. I am simply teaching you which way would be the most painful to die." The Dark Lord sounded sickly triumphant—perhaps because he had gained a reaction from Severus.

He stiffened every muscle in his body, seeing his reflection in the water. "No..."

He didn't hear the Dark Lord's response, for suddenly his head was pushed downward, and his face broke the surface of the lake.

Sound became blurred. He opened his eyes and saw only darkness. He had forgotten to breathe—and found himself savouring every oxygen molecule in his body. He tried to calm his raging heart, trying to listen to...anything...

But he would not be able to hold on for long.

There was pain across his chest. His lungs were constricted, straining for air, that was not coming to him.

How long had he been under? Seconds at the most—but it felt like minutes.

The hand behind his hair was too strong, he could not push it away, and he saw the black dots in front of his eyes as he opened them once more.

His heart was pounding, his lungs burning, and he felt light headed.

He knew it was helpless, he knew it would not help—yet he did it anyway, for his body was doing only what it knew, and it could not stop.

He breathed in through his nose and mouth.

But instead of air, he tasted only foul water.

Water was filling his mouth and his nostrils, running down into his lungs.

He tried to cry out, but his body did not respond.

Blackness was consuming him...

_

* * *

_

I did say two chapters, did I not? Lord Voldemort gets crueller every time. Update as soon as I have the heart to write it. Until then, I leave Severus in his torment. Lovely girl, aren't I? All love, always, SS19.


	5. Breathing Space Part 2

**Renewal**

* * *

He was pulled from the water, coughing and spluttering. He expelled the foul water onto the bank before him, before Voldemort. He shivered, and raised his head, still gasping for breath—he had thought he would not taste such precious oxygen again...

"Not pleasant, is it, Severus? Drowning?" The Dark Lord asked with a cruel smirk. "Nevertheless, necessary. Now. You will answer my question. If I think you are lying, we shall see how much longer you could last under the water. Murky depths, aren't they?"

How could he convince Voldemort that he was loyal? He had said as much, proved as much, and yet he still chose not to believe him.

Or was this deliberate? Realisation hit Severus' stomach. This wasn't so much about proving loyalty. This was torture. The Dark Lord was a sadist who enjoyed subjecting others to pain. He drew sick pleasure from the activity. He did not have a route out of this...

"Are you...loyal to me?"

"I have told you enough times, my Lord, yes!" Fear had made him reckless.

And he paid for it. Oh how he paid for it.

The Dark Lord gripped him by the throat and forced his head backward under the water—the liquid flooded his nostrils and the fist tightened around his throat. He raised one hand, still on dry land, and attempted to force the hand away—but Voldemort still obstructed his breathing.

He swallowed water, tasting mud and unpleasantness on the back of his tongue. He coughed, but that only allowed more water to pass into his system.

How long could a man last? He was sure that ten minutes was the maximum, before serious brain damage was caused—but surely the Dark Lord would not risk that?

He thought of the Headmaster, just for one second. His comforting blue eyes flashed across his vision, before the darkness started to set in. He felt a renewal within him—and focused his mind. He forced his senses to wake up—he told himself that he was not to die, no matter what happened. He had a job to perform. And he would perform it.

He was pulled from the water—thrown to the ground—weakened to the point of exhaustion. He breathed, spitting plants and things he dreaded to imagine from his mouth.

"Do not anger me, Severus." Lord Voldemort stared down at his servant. "Get out of my sight." He sounded angry.

How could the Dark Lord be angry?

But Severus was not going to stay. Not with the Dark Lord in such a mood. He wanted to ask for his wand, but assumed that Voldemort was keeping it for a reason. He did feel less secure without it.

Instead he stood and Disapparated.

By the time he reached the Hogwarts boundary he was cold, soaked through, and sneezing. He also felt sick. The water had not been clean. His head was aching, for reasons that he could not explain. He staggered through the Forbidden Forest—as he had been for the past half an hour. It normally took him much less time than this. Had he gone the wrong way? He was sure that he was normally at the castle by now...

It was so cold here. He pulled his arms tighter around himself. He was so tired.

Maybe he could just rest, for a moment. He leant back against the trunk of a tree, slumping his shoulders forward.

Yes. He felt sick. His stomach was churning. Was he going to throw up?

His eyes drifted shut. He could just take a moment to rest here...

There was light in front of his face. He was startled awake. "What the?"

"Severus!" Albus' voice. "There you are. What are you doing out here?"

Severus was still sat in the forest. "That's a good question, Headmaster." He answered, looking around himself. "I must have fallen asleep."

"Sleep?" Albus held his lantern up and looked at him properly, "Why are you wet?" He asked, sounded worried.

"The Dark Lord's test." Severus answered, stifling a yawn followed by a sneeze.

"Which was?" Albus reached out a hand to help Severus to his feet.

"He tried to drown me."

Albus nearly dropped Severus again, "He did what?"

"He tried to drown me." Severus responded, leaning heavily on Dumbledore, "In a lake. In the middle of nowhere. I am very tired."

"You are coming straight to my office. I ought to have Poppy look at..."

"No. No, you cannot. He saw straight through the salve, Headmaster." Severus yawned again, and Albus smiled at him slightly. "I think you are just tired, Severus, so we shall get you straight to bed." He paused, "Are you all right though?"

Severus nodded confidently. "Of course."

Albus bustled back into the room, carrying a glass of water on a tray. Severus, lying in bed with a hot water bottle and several blankets, looked at it. "No thank you." He didn't think he could stomach the thought of water again.

"You have to clear your system of whatever foul things you swallowed this evening, Severus. Have a few sips, and then I'll let you rest." He handed the glass to Severus, seating himself in the armchair next to the bed. Severus took two sips and then put the glass straight down.

"Headmaster." He said finally.

Albus looked at him above his spectacles, "Yes?"

Severus frowned, shifting position on the red and gold pillows. "I'm scared."

Albus leaned forward, "Naturally."

"He's using the fact that I am scared. He's torturing me just for the sake of it." Severus continued. He turned his head to face Albus, "What if he pushes me too far. I don't...I want to end this war, before I die."

"Severus, this is certainly a morbid conversation. I don't think Tom is foolish enough to kill his only spy in Albus Dumbledore's camp, if you will allow me to be immodest." Albus reached out and gently smoothed Severus' wet hair. "You will survive. I know it. I trust you."

Severus stared at him for a moment, that dragged out across several seconds. "Fire. Water. What will the next one be?"

"Think on it tomorrow. We shall not speak of this now. You need to sleep, Severus. Close your eyes and try not to think about today. You need your strength."

Severus nodded, turning his head away. "You won't leave?"

"No." Albus replied, "I have spent so much time worrying about you tonight, I do not think I can sleep. I shall watch over you." He resumed his gentle stroking of Severus' hair. "Sleep well." He bent forward and pressed a gently and affectionate kiss to Severus' forehead.

The younger man was so tired he hardly reacted—and before long, sleep had claimed him.

Albus continued to run his hands through damp black hair, staring into nothingness.

Fire.

Water.

He had a pretty good idea of what was going to happen next.

And it scared him.

_

* * *

_

Look closely and you might see something in this chapter that alarms you. The more observant among you might hear the bells ringing.


	6. Sleepless Night

**Renewal**

_What is that? Is that...possibly...SS19 crawling on her hands and knees and grovelling for forgiveness for being gone so long? Quite possibly. Things have been weird around here lately, and the muse was lost. But, quite suddenly, the words for this chapter of Renewal flowed from the pen, and this chapter was written._

_Thank you for bearing with her—and she hopes that you will enjoy this humble offering._

_**Dedicated to GryffindorandSlytherinUnite.**_

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Chapter Three: Sleepless Night

Neither were asleep for very long—one was awoken by his nightmare and the other roused by the cries. He watched as Severus sat bolt upright, wrapping his arms around his stomach. "I don't..." He paused for a sharp intake of breath, "Feel well." He finished. His breathing was uneasy, too shallow and too fast. His face was pale—and seemed to be tinted with a touch of green.

Albus reacted just fast enough. He conjured a basin using his wand and pushed it in front of Severus—just as the other convulsed and violently threw up into the bowl. He coughed and spluttered as the foul acid burnt his mouth and left a foul taste smeared across his teeth. Instantly he was faint, and he felt his sweaty palms slip on the basin.

"Shush." Albus gently pulled Severus' wispy hair back from his face, looking at him concernedly. "Any better?"

Severus glanced at him and shook his head—before his stomach churned again and he bowed his head, fighting his own body.

It was so distressing, Albus mused, to see Severus so unwell—as the boy was sick three more times, he could barely do anything except gently massage the other's back, whispering kind and soothing words into his ear.

Finally Severus looked up, turning his head away from the bowl—which Albus promptly emptied, cleaned and placed on the floor with a few flicks of his wand. Meanwhile, Severus collapsed back on the bed, one arm flung across his eyes.

Albus was silent for a moment, before finding the words. "Are you going back to sleep?"

Severus made a negative noise in the back of his throat.

Albus shifted position on his chair, stretching tired muscles. "Very well. You should eat something."

Again, the same noise.

"Water, perhaps?" Albus pressed.

Finally Severus pulled his arm away from his eyes, fixing Albus with a despairing gaze. "Stop fussing. I am fine."

Albus laughed coldly, "Clearly not, dear boy." He pressed the back of his hand to Severus' forehead, and the other did not flinch away. "You are very hot—I hope you are not descending into fever." He lowered his gaze to Severus' neck. "I see Tom helped a little with your drowning experience." He was referring to the cruel ring of bruises surrounding Severus' neck.

Severus turned his head away, "You should sleep, Headmaster." He murmured.

"You asked me to stay. And clearly as you are terrified, I intend to do just that." Albus answered firmly. His tone invited no argument—yet he knew that Severus was not his usual self when no biting insult was returned.

"I hate him." Severus said finally. "I hope he sees that before it happens."

Albus leaned back in his chair. "Before...what happens?" He asked, a little confused.

"Before he kills me. I hope he understands why I did this."

Albus stared at him, "You are not going to die!"

"Yes I am. In fact, I'm surprised that I still breathe now. He knows." Severus' tone was neutral, as if they were discussing the weather or a passing bird, "He must know."

"How?" Albus asked, fear touching his voice. "How must he know?"

"He guessed about the salve for my burn." Severus paused. "And...I think he used Legilimency on me when he was torturing me under the water. I don't know—I was panicking. He would have seen all he wanted to see—for I was not thinking...thinking of...him." He raised his head, the gaze that was aimed at Albus meaningful. "He knows."

Albus shook his head, "No, Severus, do not speak like this. He cannot know."

Severus sighed, "Unless, of course, he is saving himself for some big finish. That would be very like him."

"Please, stop this."

"Fire. Water. The next has to be Earth. My funeral."

"Stop it."

"I don't know why you are so concerned, Headmaster, you can just find my replacement—it will not take much time, spies are easy to come by as long as the price is right..."

"Severus!" Albus leapt from his chair, "How dare you suggest that you are just a spy to me." He gritted his teeth, forcing himself to take a deep breath in. Severus had drawn back slightly, a little shocked by Albus' reaction. "Severus. You mean much more to me than just a spy. You always have done. Please do not suggest otherwise."

Severus stared at him, "But...I am just a means to an end. That's what..."

"That's what _Voldemort _says. Have I ever said that about you?" Albus shook his head, "No." He sat on the bed next to Severus. "Listen to me. Yes, you are the person I ask to spy on Voldemort. But you are also..." He looked away. "He will not kill you."

Severus was silent for a moment. "I'm sorry. I didn't know you..."

Albus waved his hand. "It doesn't matter."

But it clearly did.

There was another long—and terribly uncomfortable—silence.

Severus couldn't stand it any longer. "I...want to go and clear myself up." He said finally. He stood, "Thank you for tonight."

Albus nodded, "Of course."

Severus stared at him for a long moment, standing by the doorway. He wanted to say something—but couldn't find the words. He turned and headed out of the door way.

"Severus..." Albus murmured. "Don't leave without listening to what I have to say..."


	7. Death March

**Renewal**

_I like this chapter a lot. It's taken a lot of work to get it formulated in my head. Dedicated to all my readers. I cannot express through my most beloved medium how amazing you all are. So I shall just give you all a big hug instead!_

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**Chapter Seven: Death March**

The sky was flushed with a faint shade of pink. It would have reminded him of a lover's blush—if he had ever experienced such beauty. There was not a breath of wind—the air was calm and it helped to relax his nerves. It was pleasantly warm—he was not uncomfortable in such a temperature, for it suited him.

Moths and other such insects swept past him, seeming not to notice his form or shadow as they danced in the evening light, preparing to spend the night fluttering through the forest's many passages.

He stopped, just for a moment. He stopped.

He could hear a bird twittering in the background somewhere—a soft, kind tune that should have lightened his heart, but hardly penetrated the heaviness. The rustle of leaves as a larger animal crept through the undergrowth, preparing to pounce on an unknowing victim. Way in the distance, he could hear rippling and bubbling water; perhaps from the waterfall where he collected his frogspawn for his potions? How many times had he knelt there and drowned his troubles in the sparkling, clear water?

He let his gaze span the area in front of him, picking up every detail, every intricate process that made life possible. He saw the small flowers close their petals as the light drained away. He looked at the fallen leaves carpeting the grass, creating the mirage of a liquid gold pathway. How many times had he wandered this forest, aimlessly, searching for the answers yet finding just a semblance of peace?

How he longed for peace now.

He could smell the soft perfume of the flowers and the trees, and taste the moisture in the air.

How could such a perfect evening lead to such a terrible night?

He started to walk again through the forest, knowing that he needed to quicken his stride, but not feeling particularly amiable. If he was walking into the embrace that he had avoided for so long, then he was in no hurry.

He leant on the trunk of an ancient giant, staring up at the tree's branches, wishing that there was some other way.

He wasn't afraid to die—that wasn't it. But he still thought it a terrible waste...

After all, he was the youngest Potions' Master of the century—he had thought, when he had been much younger, that he would develop a potion that could ensure immortality. He had wanted to brew a better alternative to the Wolfsbane potion. He had wanted to create something that could bring someone back to life, even when there was no hope.

And he had wanted to _do _something. Something that he would be remembered for. He had wanted _his_ name in the texts that the future students of Hogwarts would study.

He had wanted to retire somewhere warm and trouble-free, where he could mull over his thoughts and read his books until he was ready to move on to the next adventure.

He wasn't ready now.

And he had wanted to find someone to share the rest of his life with. He had wanted to feel real love, rather than the incubated, artificial mess that he had grown up with. He had wanted to feel that closeness with someone. He had wanted to walk along a pier under the moonlight, holding that someone's hand. He had wanted to murmur sweet nothings into her ear, tell her that she was beautiful, tell her that she meant everything to him. Tell her that she had made his life complete, filled the void in his heart, given him what he needed and had ever wanted.

He had wanted to stand atop a mountain and shout to the world, knowing that no one could hear. He had wanted to watch the sun set at the other side of the world. He had wanted to lie under the stars and count them, draw pictures with them, conjure stories of existence.

He had wanted someone to be there at his funeral. Rather than his mother, who was buried alone on a windy Sunday morning where the rain had lashed his cheeks and mingled with the tears. Unlike his father, who had died at his own hand in a pool of his own blood, left to fester until someone had had the courage to enter his house—for that was all he deserved. No. He had wanted someone to watch his casket be lowered into the ground—someone to shed just one single tear for him. Someone to cry for him—to make up for all the tears he had shed for everyone else.

For this whole damned world.

He didn't want to die. He didn't want to die like this. At a meeting with someone whom he hated. A group of people who had ravaged and had corrupted him, had never cared for him.

But he had made his choice. Twenty years before, he had made the choice which would lead him, blindfolded, to this ending.

He was thirty-five years old. This would be his last night.

And he started to walk once more. He did not know what powered his legs, for it was not want or need or ambition. Perhaps it was simply acceptance.

His duty.

And he reached the edge of the Forbidden Forest. He pressed his fingers to his Dark Mark and was gone.

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The sky was obscured by clouds of thunderous grey—suffocated and stifled like a corpse. The wind had picked up and whipped his robes across his body and lashed his hair against his face—and he felt the anxiety grow. It was cold—so very cold—and it ate at his exposed skin.

Huge insects—the creatures of a child's nightmare—furiously charged past him—grotesque things with long legs and flapping wings—they did not notice him in their haste spend the night sucking the blood from some unsuspecting animal.

He stopped, just for a moment. He stopped.

He could hear no life. No birds. No animals. The leaves around him were sucked and tormented by the howling wind. Way in the distance, he could hear the roll and the roar of thunder, gaining fast on where he stood. He did not know this place, and it had no familiarity to him. It granted him nothing.

He let his gaze span the area in front of him, picking up every detail and every intricate process. He saw the brown petals that the flowers had wept. He saw the greying leaves, creating a ghostly pathway for the dead and dying.

How he longed for peace now.

The shadows around him. Moving shadows. People that he had come to hate more than himself.

"Kneel."

He saw no alternative. He forced his knees to buckle. Here was the beginning of the end. Here was his world. Stretching before him, in his mind's eye. And he would not listen to what his master was saying. He did not care for it.

Another voice was drowning him out.

"_I never thought it possible—but I care for you more than you could ever understand, dear boy."_

It had started to rain. He felt the moisture in his hair and dripping onto his robes.

"_You are more than just a spy—in fact, I have not classed you as a spy for years. You are my colleague and my friend—and I wish you could understand that."_

The wind was roaring now—and the voice above his head was louder.

The one inside his head, however, was softer. Tainted with tenderness.

"_If I could have this any other way, then I would. If I could turn back time, I would stop this. I would not make you do this. But I can't."_

It was terribly cold. He wanted to shiver, but that was a sign of weakness.

"_You must promise me something, though, dear child. You must try."_

The bellowing thunder was closer now.

"_Please, don't give up. You have to fight, even when all seems to be lost."_

The rain was pouring. Still he did not react. He needed to listen.

"_Will you promise me that? Promise me that you will not lose hope—for this is not the end. Promise me that you will return home. Promise me that you will find some way to come back to me."_

He raised his head and looked up at the black sky.

"_I care for you. I will be the person that you seek, the person who will stand by you in your hour of need—I should have done it before, and for that, I am guilty. Just promise me. I need those words."_

He remembered his own response. _"I promise."_

And then he saw it. Just for a second. He could have imagined it—but at the same time, he knew he did not. A streak of reds and golds and yellows against the darkness. The form of a bird, in all its glory, sweeping wings and flaming tail.

He was glad it was raining, for that meant no one could distinguish the icy rain from the warm tear that streaked his cheek.

He looked up—not at the sky. No longer did he look inward. He turned his attention to the present, to the here and now, to the night that he may not see the end of.

He met Lord Voldemort's eyes with determination and resolve.

One final test to pass. And _by hell_, he would pass it.

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_Shall I leave it there, just to torment you? Heh heh. This was meant to be the end. _

_However._

_Then I added the last sentence. I think you deserve to know exactly what happens to dear, dear Severus! I look forward to your comments, in whatever form suits you best; review, PM or Twitter._

_So. There will be one more chapter. One more test. One more chance for Severus to walk out alive. But that is no guarantee._

_Just one more._


	8. Ending

**Renewal**

_***breathes in deeply***_

_**The final chapter of Renewal. This is a big moment for me, so let us all just take a moment to...**_

_**What am I talking about? You just want to read it. Please go ahead, and remember how much I like reviews! Thank you for coming with me on this journey, for all the encouragement, and for all the kind words.**_

_**I hope this ending is fitting. Much love, SS19.**_

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Chapter Five: Ending.**

"I have been testing your loyalty, Severus Snape, and yet I find you...insufficient to my requirements." Lord Voldemort folded his arms and fixed Severus with a glare that burned the younger man, "Twice now, I have concrete reasons to mistrust you."

The rain had stopped, but Severus had hardly noticed.

"Those reasons are unfounded, my Lord." Severus answered.

"Indeed?" Voldemort shook his head. "I do not believe you."

"I have not betrayed you, my Lord." He would try, at least.

"It matters not—I have no further use for you." Voldemort turned his head to one side. "You have exhausted your opportunities, Severus."

Those words hurt, even though Severus felt no loyalty to this man. He would have rather died in dishonour, rather than just a lack of necessity. He was worthless.

"As your master, I feel it is most useful...therefore...to dispose of you."

"What about the final test? You said...three..." He did not mean to sound desperate—but he needed a chance! By Merlin, he needed a chance to survive this!

"I have changed my mind." Voldemort replied. "For I don't need you any more."

Severus looked away, diverting his gaze back to the ground.

"I am afraid there will be no funeral for you, Severus Snape, for I doubt anyone will find your body—I am sure Dumbledore will shed a tear for you—" He laughed harshly, "Or perhaps not." He beckoned to Severus. "Stand up."

Severus pushed himself to his feet. He was an equal height to the Dark Lord—which had given him much pleasure in the past. Knowing that Lord Voldemort was just a man. He was nothing more than a human.

"But I will do you the justice of being granted a burial. Rest in peace." Voldemort paused for impact. "Pieces."

Severus tried not to appear intimidated by this remark. He forced the fear to stay in his heart; he would not let any emotions taint his facial expression. He glanced at the sky—but there were only thunderous clouds. There was no streak of light this time.

This was, truly, the end.

"Confronted with death, Severus, is there anything you wish to tell me?"

Severus shook his head slightly. "Nothing more than you already know."

"That you are _loyal_? How wonderful. Are you sure there is nothing else? I am going to kill you, Severus. Nothing at all?"

Oh, there was so much that he could say! How Lord Voldemort was nothing but a coward—how Albus Dumbledore would triumph over him and how he would be destroyed. But he stayed silent. He had played this role so well—and he would keep up the performance even now.

The final performance.

"Very well." Voldemort gestured to two of his followers.

They stepped forward and moved a long, rectangular shadow closer to where Severus stood.

A wooden box, almost like a crate, wide enough for perhaps a man to lie straight, but with very little room to move either side.

Severus felt the dread.

It was a coffin. Unconventional, but it could only have one purpose.

Voldemort stood next to him, looking at the box. "Pleasant, isn't it, the motion of death? Maybe now you will understand why I will avoid that final sentence." He turned to his followers. "Leave us. I would not do you the embarrassment of dying surrounded by those who would betray you in a moment, Severus."

Severus knew his breathing had increased.

"And now..." Voldemort took out his wand and pointed it at Severus. He brought the wand down sharply, and Severus felt the stiffening in his veins. His limbs were freezing. "Is this really the end?" He asked finally, meeting the Dark Lord's eyes.

"I regret it." Voldemort replied. He caught Severus as the other overbalanced, and lifted him into his arms. "For a while, I thought you would be the one who would achieve the most. But then you went to Dumbledore. It was your own fault, Severus."

The curse stopped his lips from moving—and he could not reply. There was nothing he could do now, except wait as the Dark Lord gently rested him into the crate. He could feel the wood under his spine his skull—but he could do _nothing_.

He was helpless.

He watched the Dark Lord through bleary eyes, seeing an expression of pity flash across the ravaged face. Carefully, the Dark Lord eased Severus' sleeve back, exposing the Dark Mark that tattooed the white skin. "I will grant you one final mercy. That is my last promise to you." He murmured, close to Severus' ear.

Voldemort stroked a white finger through Severus' hair, leaning forward and pressing a gentle and affectionate kiss to his forehead. A perverted version of the gesture Albus had shown so many times to his most wayward follower.

"Sleep well." His words were sarcastic—he pulled away and moved out of sight.

Severus wished he could move something, do something, free himself from this—this was not a glorious ending by any extent! His heart was pounding and he could feel his breathing coming sharply through his nose—and it only increased when suddenly, everything was dark.

And the last thing he had seen were the red, bottomless, empty pools of Lord Voldemort's eyes.

He lay still, staring up at the blackness of the lid.

_Clump._

His eyes widened. He inhaled sharply.

_Clump._

_Clump._

Soil.

Hitting the lid of the coffin.

This was it then—he was being buried alive. And he could not scream, despite how much he wanted to.

He could not move, try to pound the lid of his coffin—coffin!—off and find an escape.

He could only lie.

And he wanted the Headmaster. He wanted someone to rescue him from this nightmare—but there was no one.

_Clump._

He felt the tear streak his cheek and he tried to convince himself it was sweat.

There was a voice in his head.

"_You were a good and faithful servant, Severus Snape. And for that, I grant you one final chance to confess your sins to me."_

"_I have not sinned." _He thought_. "I was loyal until the end."_

There was a long pause.

"_In that case, I do this for you. Your final mercy." _

Severus could hear something else.

A hissing noise.

Something brushed past his left leg.

"_Its venom is potent—you will die slowly—but not as slowly as you would if I abandoned you here." _

"_I served you! I tortured for you! I murdered for you! I have done nothing to deserve this!" _

"_Maybe."_

"_My Lord!"_

"_There is no need to beg me."_

"_Please!"_

There was a sharp stabbing pain in his left forearm. He could not gasp—he could only breathe in harshly as the pain shot up his arm and to his neck.

"_You will be dead very soon. The pain should be short. Good bye, Severus. I will make sure Dumbledore is aware of your demise."_

And then there was silence.

The hissing noise had stopped and there was no movement in the coffin—he could hear his breathing, and wondered how much oxygen was available in this tight space.

His fingers and feet were numb.

He felt his stomach churn—from nerves? From the poison now rampaging through his veins? Perhaps. He swallowed, but his throat was dry.

He was lying down—so why did he feel so dizzy?

Everything felt deadened.

His limbs were so heavy.

He was tired.

So very tired.

He blinked.

He had tried.

Trying was the first step toward failure.

Breathing was difficult.

His heart was pounding faster.

It was starting to hurt, and the pain was spreading.

And he was still tired. His chest felt raspy.

He could hardly keep his eyes open.

His heart continued its cruel rhythm, punctuated with gasping breaths.

The pain was considerable, now.

He tried to moan, but no sound came out. He could not connect his brain and his vocal chords.

Everything felt slow.

He was struggling to think—he tried to focus on anything, the blue of Albus' eyes, the white of Voldemort's skin, the blonde of Lucius' hair—but the colours were just black and white.

His whole mind was falling apart.

And he was tired.

He supposed this was the end, now. A drawn out end.

The pain was unbearable, and he could have cried, if he had had the strength.

Instead he made the conscious decision to do something he had never done before.

Surrender.

And although it hurt more than the venom, and although it broke his heart to admit defeat, he knew there was no other path.

His eyes fluttered closed, and he let precious oxygen fill his veins one final time—before letting the breath out.

And he gave up.

_

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The end._

_...?_


	9. Epilogue

**Renewal**

_This chapter has always been written. I just wanted to leave it on such a wonderful cliff hanger. Renewal was the one story I wanted to end like this. I hope it makes some people realise what I have been trying to tell them for a long time!_

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**Epilogue:**

Breath filled his lungs. He opened his eyes and was blinded. He felt wet beneath his back, he could hear a bird singing, he could taste moisture on his lips.

He blinked, twice.

Shapes were forming around him. Trees.

He blinked again.

A shadow passed over him.

"You passed."

He sat up, despite how his body cried out at him to lay still, just for a moment more. He wanted to speak, but his throat was too dry.

"I have given you life, Severus Snape. You owe me your life. Do not disappoint me."

And he was pulled to his feet, to look into the red eyes. He nodded, just once. His legs were too weak to hold him upright—and the moment Lord Voldemort disappeared, he collapsed back down to the ground.

He spent some time just savouring the flavour of oxygen on his tongue. He examined every part of his body with his eyes, seeing the two puncture marks on his wrist. He moved all his muscles, one at a time, feeling their strength return.

And he realised that he needed to be somewhere.

Arms wrapped around him, pulling him close. He clung to the sky blue robes, unwilling to let go. A kiss was pressed to his forehead.

Never had he felt so safe.

Neither of them spoke. They did not need to.

He stayed in that embrace for longer than he thought possible.

He could breathe in the scent of old parchment and milky tea.

And he knew that he was alive.

And while he sat, rocked to and fro by someone who cared for him more than he could have ever imagined, he started to think.

Life was cruel. It was complicated. There were so many who wanted to destroy such a fragile life force. So many wanted to corrupt happiness and hope, and leave only despair.

But.

There was also the person who held him, now. The person who was there for him, the person who would never let him go, the person who wanted to understand him.

Severus Snape smiled.

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_**Renewal was the one story I wanted to end happily. Thank you for reading, and this time? It really is complete.**_


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